Just when I was giving up hope, January redeemed itself with a pretty little snowstorm.
Though hardly the blizzard we were promised, Jonas certainly worked its magic over the city. Every skeleton tree was dusted with luminous pearls, every rail draped in crystal lavalier. It was all quite befitting of Saturday night’s engagement, a birthday fête reflecting all that sparkles in its title alone: Champagne 2016. Impromptu snowball fights followed.
The next morning summoned yet another round of shining, the sun bouncing up with all the levity of an April afternoon. Of course from inside one’s cozy apartment, the only appropriate course of action would be to whip up some cornmeal pancakes (with blackberry compote, like you do) and eat them on the couch, warm mugs in hand.
So we did.
Post-pancakes, M and I set out to explore the sunny snow day. We tasted alllll of the olive oils, straight from their shiny steel fustis. We hoofed from Prospect to South Water, pondering the purpose of faux-windows while peeking through real ones, spying on table-makers and clay faces and ricotta pizzas as we passed. We ducked behind columns and into city cul-de-sacs, down secret steps and up so many hills. We admired the snow-covered city from up close and far away, in the glowing light of the golden hour and under a chilly, purple sunset. We said silly things and I laughed, and laughed, and laughed…
…until the snow started to melt and once again that big J stared me down from atop my kitchen calendar. You know how an enchanted snowy weekend can make the work week feel at once refreshing and melancholy? One more week, Mr. January. Then let’s give February a chance to make some mushy Valentine magic, okay?